


Good Interpersonal skills

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [4]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Boss/Employee Relationship, Cute, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Out of Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Seungcheol's a jerk, but it's a defence mechanism.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 25
Kudos: 253





	Good Interpersonal skills

**Author's Note:**

> REUPLOAD

Somewhere in the quiet recesses of Seungcheol’s mind, he remembers what it’s like to feel rested. Clarity of perception, the ability to follow a train of thought to its logical conclusion, an attention span sharp enough to focus on more than one simple detail at a time.

Not this morning though—not on two hours of sleep because he was up most of the night thinking about how seriously _fucked_ he is. Not when he finally arrives at work an hour late, to a steaming cup of coffee brewed to his exact specifications, and the sight of his petite PA…. _bent over his desk?_

_What the fuck?_

He has no earthly idea what Jihoon’s doing but he really wishes he would stop. It’s bad enough he’s spent all night _thinking_ about his pretty PA in an unprofessional capacity, the absolute _last_ thing he needs to be greeted with this morning is the stupendous view of his surprisingly curvy ass.

_Jesus….where has he been hiding that fine piece of merchandise?_

Seungcheol shakes his head, trying to clear it. It doesn’t seem to work.

He tries to keep his breathing steady at least as he says, “Jihoon—what are you doing?”

“Oh, Good morning Seungcheol! I’m trying to coax this spider into this glass so I can set it outside.” Jihoon says over his shoulder, far too pleased with himself—far too perky for this early in the morning as far as Seungcheol is concerned.

Too perky in more ways than _one_.

“Why don’t you just kill it?” Seungcheol asks, trying very hard not to stare at the curve of Jihoon’s taut lovely bottom bouncing ahead of him.

“Noo, you should never kill a spider!” Jihoon gasps quietly. “They’re clever and useful and they eat flies. Flies are disgusting and spread disease and spiders get rid of them for us. Also, when you kill a spider—two more take its place.”

Seungcheol is freaked out enough by the suggestion that he hesitates for moment, before realising that’s complete and utter bull.

“What the hell, that’s not true. Who the hell told you that?”

Jihoon adopts a thoughtful look. “I’m not sure. I think I read it somewhere on creepy pasta.”

Seungcheol blinks his way through a massive brain blackout because absolutely none of that sentence made any sense at all.

_Creepy pasta? What the fuck?_

When his brain kicks into gear again, Jihoon’s still bent over his desk playing ‘spider whisperer’, trying to coax the little critter into an upturned glass with a piece of A4 paper. The spider seems to be having none of it, and keeps curling it’s legs into a defensive little ball each time Jihoon nudges it gently.

“Come on little buddy.” Jihoon is cooing sweetly. “Don’t you want to go outside and play with your spider friends? There’s nothing here in this office for you. You could be outside, in the sunshine, running free.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, torn between disbelief and amusement and the impossibly strong urge to pinch Jihoon’s cheeks. _His facial cheeks._ But he's pretty sure that would be hard to explain away, and it certainly won’t get the spider out of his office any faster.

So nudging Jihoon aside, he grabs a Manila folder off his desk and raises it over his head.

Jihoon’s cry of indignation stops him in his tracks. “No—please don’t kill it Seungcheol! It doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just lost.”

Seungcheol sighs out a breath through his nose, and turns to glare at him—only to find Jihoon staring at him with wide eyes and a hopeful expression that has to be calculated.

It's already working. Seungcheol can feel his resistance crumbling.

Goddammit. He has no defence against soulful kitten eyes.

Flinging the folder aside, he wrestles the glass cup out of Jihoon’s hand, lays it flat against the surface and points at the spider. “Get in the fucking cup.”

Jihoon giggles at that. “I don’t think yelling is going to motivate the spider Seungcheol. It’s not one of your _employees_.”

Seungcheol sighs explosively. “Well it _better_ get in this cup in the next ten seconds or I’m gonna crush it.”

Jihoon stares up at him, with only 50% soulful kitten eyes than before—but dammit, that’s powerful enough. Heaving another sigh Seungcheol crouches down to get eye level with the spider, then grabbing a pen off his desk, he nudge, nudge— _nudges_ it carefully until it scampers into the glass on its own terrified steam.

“Finally!” Seungcheol huffs, lifting the glass upright again. He clamps his hand over the top, in case the spider has any desires to formulate an escape plan, and gestures at Jihoon, “Get me a note-book or paper or something. To cover the top….I swear if this spider bites me right now it’s _dead_.”

Jihoon dials the soulful kitten eyes down to 25%, while simultaneously cranking the precious pout up a notch. “Itsy bitsy won’t bite you. Not after you spared their life.”

“Itsy Bitsy?” Seungcheol says flatly.

Jihoon fidgets awkwardly, lowering his gaze.

“Yeah, I named them that—after the nursery rhyme ‘The itsy bitsy spider’. Initially I was torn between calling it peter, after Peter Parker, and Quintin Tarantulino—but then I thought, maybe the spider is a _girl_ spider and wouldn’t appreciate those names. I don’t want to misgender them—so I went for a gender-neutral name that still has a spidery ring to it.”

Jihoon is so serious and even embarrassed-seeming – the way he was when he first offered the traybakes to Seungcheol– that in that moment Seungcheol has a sudden thought that doesn’t really happen in words but if it did, would probably be something along the lines of, _Okay, sure, fuck it, why not?_

He holds the glass out for Jihoon to take, “Take it. Do with it what you will—I don’t want to see it in my office ever again.”

Jihoon accepts the glass, grinning—then holds it up closer to his face and gives the spider a sympathetic pout. “Aw. Don’t worry Itsy bitsy—he says stuff like that, but he doesn’t mean it.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches, “Yes—I do. I’m very serious. If I see that spider in here again, I won’t hesitate to stamp on it.”

Jihoon ignores his homicidal spider rant, possibly on purpose, and carries the cup away. “C’mon Itsy—let’s find you a nice little home outside where you can frolic with the other spiders and have lots of spider babies. Oh…good morning Jeonghan.”

“Good morning Jihoon.” Comes Jeonghan’s uncertain voice behind him, low and amused.

Seungcheol spins, grimacing when he realises Jeonghan is _indeed_ there, leaning against the doorway. There's a slight unexpected twist to Jeonghan’s mouth, which has Seungcheol narrowing his eyes and saying, “How long have you been standing there for?”

Jeonghan coughs – possibly to cover a laugh. “Oh, five or ten minutes. I came just in time to see Jihoon use the soulful kitten eyes on you, and watched as you caved in. It was very sweet.”

Seungcheol can’t help the fierce blush that floods his cheeks, and he tries his damnedest to funnel the heat into anger. He half succeeds. “Shut up.” He hisses, caught between outrage and smothering embarrassment.

If he thought he could successfully launch himself through the plate-glass, just a few feet away, he might have done it.

* * *

The executive staff meeting later that morning isn't nearly the distraction Seungcheol had hoped it would be. The managers of each department report in on year-end numbers and research updates and ideas for future projects, and Seungcheol can't pay attention to any of it. Not when Jihoon arrives with copies of the quarterly report, still warm from the photocopier and begins handing them out.

Seungcheol tries to be subtle as he takes Jihoon in with an appreciative sweep of his eyes. The pale pink sweater vest he’s wearing should look all kinds of nerdy, but it really suits him. As does the pretty flower he’s wearing in his hair. It’s a plumeria he thinks, white and yellow—like the ones planted outside the building.

On second thought, Seungcheol realises the flower in Jihoon’s hair isn’t intentional. It is pretty windy outside and Jihoon was rummaging around in the shrubs for quite some time trying to rehouse his _spider friend_. He seems to have picked up some debris on his journey.

Seungcheol waits until Jihoon reaches his side of the table and hands him his papers, before reaching up and plucking the Plumeria poking out of his hair.

When he holds it out to him, Jihoon looks surprised, then inordinately pleased.

“Oh, _wow_ —how did you do that?” He whispers in awe.

Seungcheol blinks at him. “Do what?”

Jihoon stares down at the flower with wide eyes. “You pulled that flower out of thin air—like _magic_.”

Seungcheol takes a long moment to process that—then he shakes his head irritably. “It wasn’t a magic trick Jihoon. The flower was stuck to your _hair_.”

Jihoon gives him a sly look, like Seungcheol’s keeping secrets from him. Magical secrets. But he accepts the flower and tucks it behind his ear with a smile—like Seungcheol’s _gifted_ it to him or something. Honestly—he’s so fucking cute sometimes Seungcheol lives with an endless desire to flip every table within range.

That’s how bad things are getting. Diabetic levels of bad. It's the sort of warning label Jihoon should have really come with, professionally. _Attention all employers: if you hire this man, you will think about nothing except petting him. And maybe booping his nose. Or pinching his cheeks. Take your pick, goddamnit._

Someone clears their throat pointedly and the task at hand clicks back to the forefront in Seungcheol’s thoughts. He grits his teeth and scrolls through his spreadsheet with a vicious flick of fingers. 

Five minutes later, his attention is drawn away from Wonwoo’s _enthralling_ financial report when a display board is rolled into the room. A blown-up summary of the report needs to tacked onto the cork-board for presentation purposes, which would _usually_ be carried out by Wonwoo’s assistant. But they’re off sick today apparently, so Jihoon—obliging little pixie that he is—immediately volunteers to step in and help.

Wonwoo seems grateful for his assistance and Seungcheol normally wouldn’t mind, except Jihoon is tiny and has to actually get on his tip-toes to reach up high enough and— _dear god in heaven—_ it makes his sweater vest ride up a little and all Seungcheol can focus on now is his pert little butt. Again.

 _The sweater vest hides it all_ —Seungcheol thinks wondrously. _Keeps the fantastic curve of his ass out of sight._

“Okay, moving on—,” says Wonwoo, a little uncomfortably and Seungcheol abruptly realizes he’s just been asked for his opinion and completely failed to answer. He’s been sitting at the head of the table for a dozen seconds or more, twiddling his pen and staring intensely at Jihoon’s _ass_. Trying to decide if it was squishy like a marshmallow or firm like a perfectly ripe peach. It certainly looks peachy from over here, and suddenly the Peach emoji on Seungcheol’s phone keypad had new meaning. God, he could totally go for some peach right about now. Ripe, delicious Jihoon pea—fuck, he’s at it again.

Jesus—this isn’t professional.

This is all so very unprofessional a new word should be invented for how unprofessional it's getting. 

What the hell is the matter with him? And why now?

Why _Jihoon_?

Jihoon isn’t even the type he would normally go for. Not that Seungcheol has a type per se. He’s a bachelor, a chameleon, he goes whither and thither, whenever he wants. And he’s attracted to people, certainly – pretty faces and slender bodies, strong confident personalities, dry humour and cutting intelligence. He’ll fuck them, maybe even date them for a while, but they rarely hold his attention for long.

Jihoon seems to be the exception—because Seungcheol has never, seriously _never_ wanted to fuck someone so badly, then spoon them sweetly later.

And realizing that Seungcheol even has one, even _has_ an exception, just like everyone else, is only half the problem. The other half being the assurances he made to Jisoo—that his feelings for Jihoon were entirely platonic. It’s painfully obvious now that they’re not— _really really not_ —but he can still make sure those feelings don’t have single bit of wiggle room to develop.

He can't fire Jihoon, but he _can_ push him away. And yes, it will be harsh and cowardly and an act of desperate panic, but it's also the only possible option. It's the sensible choice, for completely different reasons than hiring him in the first place made sense. Practical in only the most selfish of ways, but practical just the same.

Seungcheol will have enough of a mess to untangle as it is. The smart thing is to get his own head sorted out first—with as little Jihoon sized distractions as possible.

* * *

Seungcheol looks ridiculously good today; the melt-in-your-mouth good that a navy pinstripe suit can give a man with Seungcheol’s casual confidence.

Shame he’s officially in dick mode today too.

When Seungcheol arrived into work this morning, there was no ‘good morning Peanut’, no ‘hello’, no ‘how was your evening?’. There wasn’t even the drama of a spider infestation or a surprise migraine to rally them together. There was just a quiet grunt of acknowledgement to Jihoon’s presence, a curt email filled with demands and then utter silence.

It’s persisted for most of the day, and despite Jihoon’s attempts to lighten the mood with tea, and treats and the occasional humorous anecdote he heard while walking through the corridors, Seungcheol has been quick to cut him off and return to his work.

And _sure_ —Seungcheol is always a little bit cagey, but this new personality defect speaks of excessive caution.

It’s weird.

His boss doesn’t seem to be angry or impatient or even tired, he’s just detached and withdrawn— _cold_. As if suddenly the desk in the corner of his office is an empty space and Jihoon ceases to exist.

It makes Jihoon feel small and sad, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it except be himself.

But maybe that’s enough?

He’s certainly no stranger to getting the cold shoulder. People either love his bubbly personality or loathe his incessant cheerfulness—there is no in between. He just hadn’t expected Seungcheol to fall into the latter category of people.

But then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised?

Any mention of Seungcheol around his co-workers is usually met with one of two responses: He’s hot as fuck, or he’s terrifying as hell. Jihoon is always careful not to comment on the first opinion, _regardless_ of how strongly he agrees with the sentiment. But any attempt at painting his boss’ personality in a more flattering light has only earned him laughs and doubtful looks. Even from people who’ve worked for the guy for _years_.

It’s almost as if Seungcheol’s never once let his guard down, around anyone. Or at least not let it down long enough for it to matter. So it shouldn’t be surprising really, that Jihoon’s not going to be the exception this time.

* * *

Early as the day starts, it runs endlessly on, until finally Jihoon is bidding the security guard a good night and grabbing the last bus home.

The second he steps across the threshold and into his apartment, his mouth starts to water at the smell of food, the sound if it sizzling noisily from the kitchen, and he’s reminded how lucky he is to have a trained professional Chef as a housemate.

Setting his bag down by the door, he toes off his shoes and shuffles quietly down the entry hall and into the tiny kitchen. 

Seokmin glances up from the stove even though Jihoon has barely made a sound and grins, “There’s my little guinea pig. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” Jihoon chirps, boosting himself up onto the stool.

He really does love being Seokmin’s recipe tester, and Seokmin doesn't disappoint. A few seconds later and he's expertly plating up a dish and setting it in front of him with a flourish.

“Our special tonight is the spice crusted swordfish, served with crimson potatoes, daikon, radishes, and caramelised parsnips.”

“Ooh—looks fancy.” Jihoon gasps, rubbing his hands together.

Seokmin nods sagely, “It's one of the new recipes I’m putting forward for the menu change. Go on—try it.”

Jihoon smiles gleefully and picks up his cutlery. When he bites into it, the sharpness of the daikon and radishes rests on his tongue, counteracting the heavier, denser texture of the swordfish, all tempered by the accompanying heavy cream. And it's _mind-blowing_ —no surprise there—Seokmin is a culinary _genius_. It's why he's jumped from a line chef, to a sous chef in a few short months at his latest job. 

Jihoon really wishes he had some grasp of culinary vocabulary to adequately express how amazing the dish tastes, to cheer Seokmin on in a befitting way—but he’s very much a novice in this area, and can only say, “It’s really amazing Seokmin. I know I say that about all your food—but this is really delicious.”

Which must be enough praise for Seokmin, who is smiling from ear to ear as he slides into the empty chair across from Jihoon.

“Let’s hope Chef Kwon agrees, cause I’ve been perfecting this recipe for the last month, and he’s already rejected three of my five new dishes.”

Jihoon frowns around a second mouthful.

He’s never met Seokmin’s boss, but from what he’s heard, he doubts he’d like him all that much. He sounds so overbearing and rude, so critical of every change Seokmin tries to make—but then again, Seokmin once made twenty soufflés in a row just because _he_ wasn't satisfied with the lightness of the first, so maybe it’s a chef thing?

Maybe all Chefs are inherently picky about seemingly perfect food?

“I know you look up to him, but that guy’s a jerk.” Jihoon murmurs, edging some fish onto his fork.

Seokmin shrugs affably. “He’s just a perfectionist. Besides, it’s his name on the front door—and if I was in his place, I’d probably be pretty exacting about the dishes I served my customers too.”

Jihoon hums thoughtfully, then says. “Well this is the best swordfish I’ve ever had—and if your boss rejects it, it probably means he doesn’t have any taste buds.”

Seokmin quirks an amused eyebrow at him, “Have you ever _had_ swordfish before?”

Jihoon pouts. “Well, _no_ —not exactly. But swordfish is pretty fancy, and I’ve only eaten in a fancy restaurant a handful of times. I never would have ordered fish those times either, because I swore off seafood for years after the day I took Cheeto my pet goldfish to school for show and tell and someone stole him off me on the bus and threw him out the window. I only started eating seafood again after you made that awesome Salmon dish for my birthday, so really, when you think about it—you’re the reason I was finally able to get over Cheeto’s death, and that’s a _huge_ accomplishment. I really loved him.”

Seokmin laughs—a bright, disbelieving sound and leans forward to ruffle Jihoon’s hair fondly. He’s smiling when he retreats. “Ah—you’re so cute Jihoonie. Even if Chef Kwon rejects this dish, I’m glad I have your approval. That’s enough for me.”

Jihoon smiles beatifically at him and tucks back into the dish.

He’s only half-way through his plate before Seokmin’s serving him a second helping and asking, “How was work?”

“…Okay.” Jihoon admits, voice deliberately low.

“ _Okay_?” Seokmin echoes, raising his eyes to Jihoon's face and looking right through him. “That sounds like Hoonie speak for not so great. What happened?”

Jihoon frowns, pushing his food around the plate. He could dodge the question completely. This is a poor spot for an interrogation. But then Seokmin will worry, and surely a partial explanation will be better than nothing. “It’s nothing really. Just my boss being weird with me is all.”

“Weird how?” The question is gentle, yet impossible to evade.

Jihoon inhales slowly. So much for partial explanations. “He’s just acting…colder than usual, distant. And I can’t shake the feeling it’s something _I_ did. I’m not sure what, but it might be because I booped him the other day.” He murmurs dejectedly.

Seokmin gives him the Eyebrow Raise of Confusion. “I’m sorry—what? You _booped_ him?”

“On the _nose_.” Jihoon clarifies with a demonstration.

“I know what booping is Jihoon, I just can’t believe you booped your boss.” Seokmin says disbelievingly.

Jihoon drops his gaze, frowning. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but I guess not.” He huffs, pretending to be annoyed instead of embarrassed. He gets that the Booping may have been misconstrued as disrespectful—but Seungcheol did boop him first after all, so he doesn't think he deserves the raging third degree.

When he glances up again, Seokmin is watching him, not unsympathetically. “Maybe it wasn’t the booping. Maybe there’s something else bothering him and nothing to do with you at all.”

Jihoon closes his eyes and shakes his head, slumping against the back of the stool, “Maybe—but it’s too much of a coincidence. I’m beginning to think I should just keep my head down and stop trying to be friendly with him. With _everyone_ actually. Not a lot of people seem to appreciate it.” He says softly, opening his eyes and staring at the opposite wall.

Seokmin’s jaw ticks with disapproval, and he shakes his head.

“No, don’t do that Jihoonie, don’t let that jerk stop you from being you. You’re a sweet, friendly guy with a bubbly personality—that’s what everyone loves about you. That’s what _I_ love about you. Your boss can either like it or lump it. Don’t change for anyone.” 

Jihoon smiles somewhat ruefully, “You know what, you’re right Seokmin. Thanks.”

* * *

Jihoon takes Seokmin’s advice on board and arrives to work the next day with a spring in his step.

And two extra coffees.

He’s taken to buying a cup for the janitor every morning because the guy is closer to 100 than 50, works his ass off to help put his grandchildren through college, and the vending machine coffee on offer is some shitty dilute stuff that should be declared ‘unfit for human consumption’. He really deserves nice coffee. Today he also brings an extra one for the Security guard too, because he’s always holding doors open for Jihoon when his hands are too full to manage it himself, and anyone who starts their day at 4am needs all the caffeine help they can get.

Except Jihoon doesn’t get half-way across the lobby before someone is knocking into him and sending the coffee’s flying. The first cup skids off somewhere, leaving a trail of coffee all over the tiled floor, while Jihoon grasps uselessly to save the second cup and ends up with a splatter all up the front of his sweater vest. 

Jihoon stares down at his soaked sweater vest, jaw dropping as he feels his blood both pouring into and rushing from his face as his mind is torn between white-faced horror and purpled mortification.

“Oh no.”

It’s just an accident, or so he thinks, until someone brushes past him with a mocking, “ _Whoops_ ” and Jihoon lifts his gaze to find Mustard Blouse watching him with an insincere smile. 

Now Jihoon makes a point of knowing the name of anyone he meets more than once, but Mustard Blouse hardly deserves the effort of acknowledgement. She’s a horrible person—which Jihoon sort of knew from day one—but he’s had a lot of supporting evidence since then, so he doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty by referring to her as Baby Diarrhoea McBitch face.

Privately in his own head of course.

“Oh dear, seems I’ve made you spill coffee all over your nice sweater vest.” she says, that funny tilt to her voice that makes it sound genuine, but he can tell she doesn’t mean it that way. Especially when she adds, “Kind of an improvement come to think of it.”

Jihoon quashes a biting reply as she strolls of, focusing instead on collecting and binning the empty coffee cups, then grabbing some paper towels from the lobby bathrooms to clean up the spill. But when he returns to the lobby with the paper towels in hand, the Janitor is already there, setting up the yellow ‘Cleaning in progress’ signs.

“I’m so sorry Min-soo, it’s my fault,” Jihoon tells the janitor, gesturing at the mess his coffees have made. “I’ll help you clean up—”

Min-soo is quick to laugh and wave him off, “Don’t worry about it Kid—I _know_ it wasn’t your fault. Besides, I cleaned up a lot worse in my lifetime than a little coffee spill.” The corner of his mouth dips slightly then as he takes in the sight of Jihoon’s stained sweater vest, and after a moments hesitation he touches Jihoon’s arm, fingers a reassuring press around Jihoon’s bicep. “Go on, you should go and get cleaned up before the Big Guy arrives.”

Jihoon nods sombrely, but manages to offer him a gracious smile before heading off.

* * *

As much as Jihoon wishes his brush with Mustard Blouse is a one off, her pettiness only picks up from there. She deliberately knocks his elbow in the corridor outside the copy room the next day, making him drop all his carefully assembled documents. She doesn’t linger to mock him this time, just swans off with an air of condescension and cheap perfume, leaving Jihoon to scramble for his papers before everyone treads on them. On Thursday, she stands behind him in the elevator, chewing on a stick of bubble-gum loudly. Then later, surprise-surprise, Jihoon finds a piece of gum stuck to his hair, and needs Seungkwan’s help to cut it out. On Friday Jihoon has to resort to buying his lunch out of the vending machine, after Mustard Blouse trips him up outside the canteen and sends the contents of his lunch box flying in a million different directions. Then on the following Monday….

“Jihoon—hold up.” Jeonghan calls out to him when they pass each other in the corridor on the 30th floor.

Jihoon immediately turns to face him, a smile at the ready, until Jeonghan reaches around to sweep a hand down his back. 

“You’ve got something stuck to you.” He says, pulling a brightly coloured Post-it off his sweater vest.

“Oh.” Jihoon blinks with realisation, because it explains the weird looks he’s been getting. And the curt snickers behind his back from the other people he’s passed in the hall.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around oblivious to its presence, but he’d stopped by the photocopying room earlier to fetch some documents for Seungcheol and Mustard Blouse had been there, watching him with a baleful, scheming stare.

“What does it say?” Jihoon asks, craning his head to get a better look at the post-it note.

Jeonghan looks up, still loosely clasping the sticky note in his hand. He looks conflicted for a moment, then quickly brushes the expression away.

“It’s not important.” He says, crumpling the paper into a little ball. There’s a waste-paper basket within reach, but instead of tossing it in, he slips the crumpled ball into his jacket pocket smoothly. “So, how have you been settling in? Everything okay? It's almost been a month for you, hasn't it?”

It's not an idle question. There's a serious look in Jeonghan eyes, a sombre glint bordering on concern, and he angles towards Jihoon discreetly. One arm clasping the bannister, the other resting on Jihoon’s shoulder firmly.

Jihoon considers telling him the truth, but it doesn’t hold much appeal.

He likes Jeonghan, who has a nice, dry wit and a tendency to share his snacks. Also, unlike _certain people_ , (cough—Seungcheol—cough) he doesn't make a huge deal out of the fact that he's on a seven figure salary and will happily slum it with the rest of the employees on occasion. But despite all that, Jihoon still doesn’t know Jeonghan well enough to share, and dealing with office bullies is _probably_ below his pay-grade.

“Yeah—everything’s fine. My induction period is nearly over.” Jihoon says, and then grins so hard it feels like his cheekbones are about to break.

"Okay," Jeonghan mutters, giving Jihoon a look that says he suspects there's more story there. “But you’ll let me know if there’s anything bothering you, won’t you? We can keep it between us, off the record.”

Jihoon swallows and can't seem to scrounge up a deflection or look away. “Of course. Uhm—I gotta go. Seungcheol really needs these documents.”

Jeonghan peers at him for several dubious seconds before nodding, “Alright. Guess I’ll catch you at lunch.”

* * *

Jihoon freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth when a paper ball bounces off his forehead and lands splat in his soup. 

Seungkwan, who was in the middle of an emphatic rant, lets his fork fall into his salad dish with a plastic-on-plastic rattle which is probably meant to be threatening and twists his head to glare at the table behind them.

“Hey—what the hell. You just ruined my friend’s lunch!” He snaps, which only succeeds in making the occupants of said table snicker even _louder_.

And of course Mustard Blouse is there, ever the ringleader and probably the culprit since she’s made no effort to conceal her dislike of Jihoon. In fact, she’s been going out of her way to pester him lately, in increasingly creative and petty ways like she’s got nothing better to do with her life.

Jihoon tries not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes people make it too easy and Mustard Blouse really _is_ a shitty person.

“Aren’t you going to apologise?” Seungkwan says, when an apology doesn’t seem to be forthcoming.

The snickers die off instantly as the other occupants of the table shrink back into their seats and duck their heads sheepishly, trying to look inconspicuous in case sharp objects started flying. _They_ , at least, have the good sense to look embarrassed, while Mustard Blouse remains defiant, staring back at them impassive as a statue.

“Sorry—I _guess_.” She shrugs, looking more amused than apologetic.

Seungkwan sits up straighter in his chair, puts on the face he uses before he verbally bitch-slaps someone, “That is _not_ an apology.”

“Just ignore her Seungkwan. She’s not worth it.” Jihoon says as Seungkwan attempts to kill Mustard Blouse with the force of his glare.

Seungkwan looks riled enough to protest, but apparently decides she’s not worth the energy. He gives a heavy sigh instead of renewing his arguments, turning back towards his lunch and shaking his head unhappily.

“Who is that bitch anyway? Has she done something like that before, because if she has—I can go stab her in the eye.”

Jihoon pushes his bowl of soup out of the way, feeling an encroaching nausea, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Also—stabbing someone in the eye seems like an _extreme_ reaction to a paper ball.”

Seungkwan’s expression radiates disapproval.

“Not when you’re dealing with a bully. I had my fair share of bullies at school and I refuse to tolerate that shit as an adult. Extreme reactions are sometimes necessary to teach people a lesson.” He says, resignation heavy in his voice. Jihoon can’t imagine current-day Seungkwan getting picked on by anyone, but at least he seems philosophical about the memory, constructed out of more intellect than passion.

Jihoon gives his most distracting smile, genuine enough at the moment, and says. “I don’t want you getting in trouble trying to defend me Boo. Besides, I wasn’t enjoying the soup anyway, and I have other snacks I can eat.”

“Well I could do something else and make it look like an _accident_. I could set fire to her hair, or that hideous mustard blouse she wears day in day out. Seriously, she wears that thing like it’s a uniform—this is a corporate building, not fucking _McDonalds_.” Seungkwan snorts.

Jihoon laughs, half surprise, half honest amusement; it's the first time all week he’s felt like he is being laughed _with_ , not at, and he smiles a little despite himself.

“She _does_ seem to wear that blouse a lot. I mean—I know I wear sweater vests every day, but at least I have a whole wardrobe _full_ of them that I can mix and match. She seems to have just one mustard blouse. Or maybe she just has a wardrobe full of the same mustard blouse.”

Seungkwan spears a cherry tomato on his fork with intent, “That’s a crime against fashion. Worthy of a st--”

“You’re not stabbing her in the eye.” Jihoon interrupts sternly.

Seungkwan chews and glowers very effectively, which is something Jihoon actually knew about him already. “ _Fine_. I’ll think of something else.”

Jihoon waves away Seungkwan’s frown with a frustrated grin and internal sigh, “Don’t waste your energy. I had my fair share of bullies at school too, and if I learnt anything from the experience is that you shouldn’t give them any indication their tactics are getting to you. Eventually they’ll get bored and move on.”

Seungkwan eyes him. “Oh, I get it. She’ll move on, and then when she least expects it—you can—”

“I’m not stabbing her in the eye, Boo.” Jihoon interjects in his most exasperated tone.

“Okay, okay.” Seungkwan demurs. But his eyes are lit with mischief, and the dark little smile tugging at one corner of his mouth looks chilling. As does the way he’s holding his fork.

Jihoon knows that look. It spells trouble.

“Alright—hand over your fork. And that pointy looking pen in your jacket pocket.”

* * *

Push a puppy away, and it will come back more determined to be petted. It’s a fact Seungcheol should have considered before he tried the same with Jihoon. Metaphorically speaking of course. Not that Seungcheol makes a habit of kicking around small animals, no matter what people at the Choi Corporation might think. And not that Jihoon is particularly the puppy type either; even though his PA could understandably be roped in the same category as a puppy by _some_ —he’s more of a _kitten_ in Seungcheol’s eyes.

A small, precious little kitten, with tiny toe beans and the squeakiest of mews….

There he goes again.

Anyway, the point is….the distancing campaign he’d been trying to instigate over the course of the last few weeks is _not working_. Jihoon may be precious, but he’s a stubborn little peanut too. The more Seungcheol pulls away, the further Jihoon pushes—chipping away at Seungcheol's defences with his adorable cat-like persistence.

Just this Monday he arrived into work with a batch of freshly baked breakfast Muffins. Keto friendly of course. Seungcheol was adamant he wouldn’t be having any—so naturally he ended up devouring the lot before lunchtime. Then on Tuesday, a ‘Groot’ bobble head appeared on his desk—some freaky twig like animated creature from a movie Jihoon adores. When Jihoon saw Seungcheol staring at it, he offered to get him a bobble head of his own. Seungcheol politely declined the offer—and on Wednesday, a Hello Kitty bobble head appeared on Seungcheol’s desk. Which he _did not_ play with when Jihoon left the room. After a particularly infuriating board meeting on Thursday, Seungcheol stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and witnessed Jihoon helping a little old lady cross the road which had him dumbstruck for a good twenty minutes. He’d always thought that was just something that happened in the character-building montage of especially corny lifetime movies, where the main character would establish just how nice and wholesome they were—not something that actually happens in real life. But Jihoon _actually_ helped a little old lady across the road, like a good little boy scout.

Seungcheol doesn’t know what wholesome, adorable gesture Jihoon will conjure up next—but he wouldn’t be surprised if he arrived at the office one day and found Jihoon singing sweetly, a feather duster in hand, while all the forest animals he rescued frolicked around him and cleaned the room under his guidance.

And yeah, _sure_ , that may seem ridiculous—but the longer Seungcheol spends in his company, the more he comes to realise that Jihoon is _not a real person_.

He’s a Disney fucking princess.

Which must make Seungcheol the evil villain, because he really doesn’t think he possesses any of the qualities to be Prince Charming. He’s got a great jawline, sure, and incredible wealth—but he’s old and miserable and he’s pretty sure most of the office thinks he’s some kind of dark evil wizard that keeps Jihoon hostage in his very high tower.

Which is a pretty accurate way of looking at it when he glances around his top-floor office where nobody dares to venture. With its marbled floors, high ceilings and heavy wooden doors—it’s distinctly guarded and impenetrable, like a fortress. 

The disturbing tangent of his thoughts is interrupted then, by a loud thump from outside the ~~fortress~~ office.

Curious, he sets his pen and file folder aside, and stands from his desk with a stiffness that tells him he's been going through reports for at least an hour too long. He crosses the room in quick strides and steps out into the hallway, listening carefully for the source of the noise.

Another quieter thump resounds further down the corridor— and Seungcheol follows the noise around the corner, to a familiar door he's only half paying attention to and thus takes an extra moment to realize is the file storage room. Which houses the filing cabinets and storage boxes they used to use before the company went digital.

It was ridiculously prehistoric, _and_ a nightmare to navigate; nobody really knew how to find anything when they needed it and nobody wanted to take ownership to sort it out, so it was a huge relief when it eventually became redundant.

Unfortunately, the documents housed inside are still invaluable and can’t just be tossed out; who _knows_ when a former client will try and sue for shoddy construction or need a set of blueprints for a design update. So they’ve been languishing in the same dusty room for six years—untouched.

Until today it seems….

When Seungcheol pushes open the door, he finds Jihoon’s kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a sea of boxes, stacks of folders, a laptop and a scanner and all manner of organisational stationary. The quiet thumping must have come from Jihoon’s attempts to lift the heavy boxes onto the table—but he’s clearly too small to manage such a feat on his own, and has resorted to working on the floor instead.

What’s he working on though? And why is he here all alone? Is he perhaps trying to stack the boxes together to build a fort? Honestly, Seungcheol wouldn’t put it past him, tiny precious peanut that he is.

“Please tell me you’re not building a fort in here Peanut.” Seungcheol says. He grins when the words make Jihoon jump with a surprised squeak.

“Seungcheol!” Jihoon gapes, twisting sharply to face him. “Oh—hi. I didn’t hear you come in. Did—did you need something from me?”

Seungcheol steps over the threshold, shaking his head. “No, I just heard a noise and came to investigate. What are you doing in here?”

But instead of looking sheepish, Jihoon’s expression goes even brighter, and when he holds up a pack of shiny new page markers with little Penguins on them, Seungcheol understands why.

“I’m organising!”

 _Of course, you are_ —Seungcheol thinks. And doing a pretty damn good job of it too, from what he can ascertain. He’s pretty sure he should commend Jihoon for his efforts, but he can’t think of a single thing to say that won’t fall comically short of properly expressing his gratitude. He settles for smiling warmly at him as he steps further into the room.

“Sure you’re up for the job? It’s quite a mess and nobody’s managed it before.”

Jihoon’s expression turns wry. “I know it looks pretty chaotic right now, but it’s organised chaos I promise. I have a system: I’m using different page markers for each year, then tagging all the documents with the same project number in different colours and using the scanner to upload each document into a designated project file. The files will have a sub-directory for blue-prints and design briefs etc, so it will be a lot easier to navigate.” He brags. For a moment he looks proud and ecstatic, then the expression smudges around the edges into something a little more sheepish. “Unless—you don’t want me to.”

“What?” Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he’s stepping closer before he realises it. “No, no it’s fine—I’m just amazed you’d want to. Most people just steer clear of this mess.” He says, gesturing at the rows of filing cabinets and boxes, stacked together in a literal _maze_ of paperwork.

The light of excitement instantly rekindles in Jihoon's eyes, and he says, “Well, they’re obviously important documents and we should have a better way of accessing them. Hopefully when I’m finished, everything will be on the computer and we can empty this room.”

“Why?” Seungcheol asks. He resists crossing his arms, and stuffs his hands in his pockets instead, slouching lazily against the wall, “You looking to make it your _office_?”

Jihoon’s tiny brow furrows at the suggestion, confused, and he shakes his head. “No. I was actually thinking _you_ could make better use of it. It’s long and kind of narrow space and would be perfect if you wanted to roll out a golf putting mat and practice shots.”

“Golf?” Seungcheol echoes dubiously. “What made you decide on golf? I hate golf.”

“But…you have that golf magazine subscription that arrives every week.” Jihoon presses carefully.

Seungcheol can't help cracking a smile at that. Jihoon is very observant of his likes and dislikes, but it still amazes him just how observant he can be.

“Yeah, that’s my father’s subscription actually. I guess I never got around to cancelling it after he retired.”

“Oh.” Jihoon pouts, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “Well—maybe you can still make use of the room. Maybe transform it into a private lounge, with a couch or a futon or something, and you can have naps.”

Seungcheol has to admit that’s a tempting idea—though he’ll never admit so out loud. Instead he heaves a sigh, extra theatrical for Jihoon's benefit, and says, “I have one nap at work and you never let me live it down.”

Jihoon shrugs, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You have a stressful job—there’s no harm in having naps. You’re less grumpy when you nap too.”

Seungcheol hums something non-committal, “So you’re _not_ trying to claim this space as your office cause you’re sick of seeing my ugly mug across the room?”

The look Jihoon gives him then is so incredulous it could almost be funny. Except it hardens into something else a moment later. An interesting something else that could almost be mistaken for…irritation? _Affront_?

“You’re not ugly.” Jihoon wrinkles his nose, and _wow_ —that might just be the cutest display of irritation Seungcheol’s ever seen. “You’ve very handsome, everyone says so.”

“Everyone. Really.” Seungcheol snorts, doing a poor job of masking his amusement.

Jihoon nods, “Yep. There’s even a secret admirers club dedicated to you. I haven’t figured out which room they meet in yet, but I know they meet every Tuesday lunchtime somewhere on the 12th floor to discuss how handsome you are, and Seungkwan told me they even have a forum online where they share their NSFW fanfiction about you.”

“Dear _god_ ,” Seungcheol says, deliberately sounding completely unimpressed with this secret admirers club, even though the suggestion is sort of flattering in its own absurd way.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that, huh?” Jihoon says, a shy smile twisting his features. He blinks it away quickly, as though Seungcheol caught out some other secret, and turns his attention towards the papers he’s holding. “Anyway—I like sharing your office with you. I wouldn’t want to be hauled up here all alone. It’s nice to have company when you’re working, even if—even if we don’t talk much.”

A momentary twinge of regret, sharp and quick throbs in Seungcheol’s chest at hearing those words.

Discomfited, he turns to leave, until he notices the lunchbox propped open on the floor next to a filing cabinet. It’s like a Bento box of sorts, with six separate little compartments, each filled with tidy little snacks: diced watermelon, cubes of cheese, strawberries dipped in chocolate, carrot sticks, animal crackers and tiny cocktail sausages cut lengthways to look like miniature octopuses.

 _Even his lunch is adorable—_ Seungcheol thinks, admiring the tidy little arrangement of snacks. Though a more upsetting thought surfaces a second later.

“Why are you having your lunch here?”

A sincerely distressed look flicks across Jihoon's face, and he quickly averts his gaze to the floor.

“I won’t spill anything, I promise. I’m being extra careful.” He says, so quietly that Seungcheol has to strain to hear him.

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head in fond disbelief. “I don’t care about _that_. You shouldn’t be working during your lunch hour. Lunch is for, well, _lunch_ —not organising my ancient filing system.”

Jihoon shrugs, still not meeting his eyes, “I don’t mind. Organising stuff is pretty therapeutic for me.”

“Eating up here is a bit lonely, no?” Seungcheol offers, purely out of self-interest. He is no way feeling protective of his PA. Not at all.

“You have _your_ lunch alone.” Jihoon is quick to point out.

Seungcheol snorts, a wry sound that's not quite a laugh. “Yeah, but it’s almost expected of me now. I’m not exactly the most sociable of people. But you—you’re like Smiley Face Mc Friendlyson.”

That earns a quiet giggle out of Jihoon, although it tapers off into a sad little sigh by the end. “I do like making new friends, but Seungkwan isn’t in today, and I don’t really like having my lunch in the canteen when he’s not around.” He says, his head drooping more dejectedly with each syllable.

Seungcheol listens for what Jihoon _isn't_ saying, which is always at least as important as the actual words that come out of his mouth.

“Why not?”

Jihoon fiddles with the corner of a box, looking strangely hesitant.

“No reason….” He answers with obvious reluctance. “I’d just… rather be doing something productive is all.”

Which really isn't an answer at all.

Seungcheol stares at the top of Jihoon’s head with an ever-deepening frown, as if he can gleam what’s bothering him so much if he looks hard enough. He doesn’t have much to go on, but his little peanut is _clearly_ upset about something, and it’s _clearly_ bad enough he’s avoiding eating in the canteen when he’s by himself.

He wonders if there is a better way to pry, to deal with the issue in a way that won’t make Jihoon uncomfortable, but, well, Seungcheol’s never managed subtle well—and the idea that something, or possibly _someone_ in the office is making Jihoon sad makes him want to _kill everyone._

Unless it’s him, of course.

Unless _he’s_ the reason Jihoon is sad.

Oh god—it’s him, isn’t it? He’s the evil villain after all. The asshole who’s setting up roadblocks and diversions and no access signs with every gesture of companionship Jihoon tries to make. Of course it was going to come back to bite him in the ass one day, and now Jihoon’s miserable and Seungcheol’s going to have to self-flagellate or punch himself in the face for being a colossal bastard.

Except, no—if he _was_ the reason his little peanut is looking so glum, it wouldn’t explain why Jihoon’s avoiding the canteen and having lunch alone _here_.

Someone _else_ must be upsetting him.

The quiet is unbroken for long moments, until Seungcheol can't take it anymore. He rests a hand on the top of Jihoon’s head— _not petting_ —just a sympathetic and reassuring gesture, and is immediately awed by the softness of Jihoon’s hair.

Wow, it’s like silk. What shampoo does he use?

Seungcheol’s hand wanders a little. Can't really be helped, he thinks, when Jihoon is _right there_ , and Seungcheol’s been thinking of petting his little head for ages. He lets his hand slide through the soft curls on his crown, then ghosts appreciative fingers over the tendrils along his nape.

“What is it? Is there something in my hair?” Jihoon says, jolting Seungcheol out of his distracted headspace.

Startled, Seungcheol yanks his hand back so fast he almost smacks himself in the face.

“Oh, I uh, no—I just thought I saw something. But there’s nothing there, you’re fine.” He says. Then, after several seconds of fumbling hesitation, “Okay, so I’m gonna go—enjoy your lunch.”

He retreats from the room quickly, ignoring the jittery energy beneath his skin, the way his nerves hum with ill-contained anticipation. The Jihoon-less hallway goes a long way toward loosening a tightness Seungcheol hadn't consciously noticed in his chest, and by the time he turns the corner toward his office, he's become a walking contradiction of tension and calm.

_Keep it together you idiot._

_He doesn’t know how you feel. Nobody knows. Calm the fuck down._

When he returns to his office, he’s surprised to find the Janitor hovering outside the door, waiting for him seemingly. Seungcheol's pretty sure the guy's name is Min-soo, but he wouldn't stake his life on it. So he’s relieved when the man notices his approach and speaks first.

“Mr Choi—I know you’re very busy, and I’m probably interrupting your lunch, but may I speak with you for a moment?”

Seungcheol knows how terrifying his employees find him, can count on one hand the number of times someone other than management personnel have asked to speak with him privately, so the request is an odd one. But Min-soo or whatever seems strangely determined to share something, and clearly brave enough to approach him too which deserves acknowledgement. That—and the fact that he could really use a distraction right now. 

“Of course, come inside.” Seungcheol nods, waving him into his office. 

* * *

Jihoon reaches his saturation point on a Thursday morning, when he arrives at work to find _someone_ has plastered blown up copies of his Photo ID above the urinals in the men’s bathroom. He used to like the picture, but now there’s caption superimposed over the image that reads _‘If you can’t piss over this midget’s head, are you even a man?’_ Which, god, why would anyone do that? Why go to such lengths just to make fun of his height?

Instead of ripping them down, he sequesters himself in a quiet, private corner of the building, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and dials a number he knows by heart.

His mother picks up on the fourth ring.

“Jihoonie,” She says, sounding puzzled but delighted. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you today. Aren’t you at—”

“I’m having a bad day,” Jihoon says, cutting her off. He doesn’t specify what _it_ is. There’s no need to specify.

Startled silence. Then: “You’re a lovely person, with the sweetest most sincerest personality. Treat people the way you want to be treated, that’s what I’ve always taught you, but don’t let anyone push you around.” It’s said with his mother’s trademarked softness, and Jihoon finds the tension in his shoulders melting away involuntarily.

“Thanks mom.”

He ends the call with new-found courage, determined to march right up to Mustard Blouse, demand that she stop picking on him or he will file a complaint. He waits until Seungcheol is safely occupied in a management meeting, before taking the elevator down to the lobby. It shouldn’t be too hard to describe her to the security guard and find out what floor she works on—then he can visit her in person and put an end to this. He’s not going to take it on the chin anymore, he’s going to stick up for himself.

Except when the elevator doors swish open, he finds the lobby not nearly as deserted as he expected—or hoped—and he considers stepping right back inside. He’s never been great with big crowds, and there’s a huge crowd of employees gathered in the lobby, all whispering amongst each other.

When Jihoon finally pushes his way to the front, closer to the security desk—he freezes at the sight that greets him.

Mustard blouse is holding a plain cardboard box in one hand, and a balled-up tissue in another and there are two stern looking security guards flanking her, one on each side—escorting her towards the exit.

Jihoon only glimpses her for a handful of seconds, before one of the guards is pushing the heavy glass door open and she’s disappearing outside, but it’s enough for him to put two and two together.

She’s just been fired.

Good riddance. But—wasn’t the armed escort a little _overkill_? What could she have possibly done to earn _that_?

Jihoon lingers to hear what people are saying, but apart from some far-out theories involving blackmail, corporate espionage and even first degree _murder_ , nobody seems to _actually_ know what’s happening or why Mustard Blouse has been given the heave-ho.

That is until… Min-soo sidles up next to Jihoon, cleaning cart in tow.

“Is the walk of shame over yet? Is the wicked witch gone?” He asks, inordinately delighted.

Jihoon snorts in amusement, but it's not as though he disagrees with the sentiment. “Yeah—about five minutes ago. Armed escort and all.”

A quick glance tells him Min-soo is wearing his most neutral, diplomatic expression. But it also reveals the spark of unapologetic amusement in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why she got fired, do you?” Jihoon asks curiously.

Min-soo gives him a canny look, then leans in conspiratorially. “I probably shouldn’t be sharing this—but I heard it was theft of company property.”

Jihoon gasps. “Oh god, _really_?”

Min-soo nods, confident, “Yeah. Seems someone tipped management off and when Security searched her car, they found 10,000 boxes of staples in the boot.”

Jihoon's eyes widen in guilty comprehension. “Oh no.”

He shakes free of his stupor a moment later, as the double doors to the conference room swing open and Seungcheol strides out with a furious look on his face.

“What the hell is going on out here?” His voice echoes through the lobby like a whip-crack, sending everyone scattering. “Get back to work, all of you!”

Jihoon is quick to scatter too, slipping through the crowd and towards the elevator before Seungcheol catches sight of him rubbernecking in the lobby.

He finds Seungkwan in the office he shares with Minghao, thankfully alone, and fiddling with something on his computer. It seems an appropriate place for a stern talking to—and though Seungkwan is famous for resisting any kind of criticism in loud and often complicated ways, Jihoon can’t just stand by and let someone lose their job because of him. No matter how much they deserved it.

“Tell me you had nothing to do with that.” Jihoon hisses, shutting the door behind him.

Seungkwan looks up at him, “With what?”

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a steadying breath. “With Mustard Blouse losing her _job_. They found 10,000 boxes of staples in the boot of her car and there’s only one person I know with access to that many boxes of staples.”

“Oh _that_.” Seungkwan taps his pen on the desk thoughtfully, “Unfortunately, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been in a meeting with suppliers all morning. I just got back an hour ago and was asked to do an inventory of supplies because of a suspected theft. When I noted the staples were missing and heard that an _employee_ had taken them, I was just as surprised as you to find out it was her—though that bitch really _did_ have it coming.”

Jihoon feels almost drunk with relief; the last thing he wanted was for Seungkwan to get in trouble for trying to help him.

“So, she really _did_ try and steal all those staples?”

Seungkwan makes a soft, breathless noise that could have been a gasp as much as a laugh. “I _guess_. Unless— _you_ know anyone else ready to plant staples in her car to get her fired.”

“I really don’t.” Jihoon says. His bemusement fades a little, as more sombre thoughts nudge towards the surface of his mind. “Wait a minute—who asked you to do the inventory check?”

Seungkwan blinks at him, then turns to his computer. Jihoon watches him warily as he taps a few keys, seemingly checking his email, before Seungkwan’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Huh— _Mr Yoon_.”

* * *

“Come in.” A voice of polished calm announces when Jihoon knocks on Jeonghan’s office door.

Jihoon opens the door and steps inside, but his movements are hesitant. The door clicks softly closed behind him as he crosses the wide, carpeted space.

“Hey Jihoonie, what can I do for you?” Jeonghan greets him warmly, gesturing at one of the open chairs in front of the desk.

Jihoon waves off the offer in favour of standing, skips over the _why_ and the _how_ , and immediately jumps into his poorly rehearsed speech. 

“Jeonghan—I just wanted to say I appreciate what you did, though I can’t exactly _condone_ your tactics. Mustard Blouse may have been a mean bully, but planting 10,000 boxes of staples in her car so she’ll be accused of theft and lose her job is kind of.... _mean_? Also possibly illegal. I’m sorry—that’s probably a terrible word choice and I’m coming across extremely ungrateful right now and honestly, that’s not my intention at all, because I’m—I’m flattered? And also maybe a little shocked you would do that for me. It’s really sweet, in a sneaky yet heroic kind of way. Anyway—what I’m trying to say is—you’re a great friend. _Thanks_.”

Jeonghan watches him with an indecipherable half smile for a long, considering minute and finally shakes his head. “Jihoon—I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

Jihoon eyebrows rise high on his forehead, and the look he offers in return is completely sceptical. “Aren’t you the one who planted the staples in Mustard Blouse’s car?”

Jeonghan blinks at him. If he’s faking innocent, he’s faking it astonishingly well. “Who’s Mustard Blouse?”

Jihoon’s shoulder droop with a heavy exhale. “The lady who was being mean to me.”

“Someone’s being _mean_ to you? Who is it? Tell me their name!” Jeonghan asks, sounding both incredulous and indignant on his behalf. 

Jihoon frowns. He was pretty sure he was right about this—thought he had it all figured out. But either Jeonghan’s a fantastic actor and doesn’t want to be called out for his questionable actions or—

Or he really _did_ have nothing to do with that bullying cow losing her job and it’s all just a coincidence. Somehow the knowledge nobody was out there secretly batting for him is…. _disappointing_.

Oh well. At least he can feel less guilty about Mustard Blouse losing her job now.

“Uhm—never mind.” Jihoon says, shrugging with a phony nonchalance and turning back towards the door. “Forget I said anything. Gotta go!”

* * *

Jeonghan doesn't find Seungcheol's office a relaxing place. 

There’s far too much glass for one thing, and the view of Seoul’s glittering skyline, as breath-taking as it is, does nothing to appease his fear of heights. Then there’s the man himself to contend with, who is about as intimidating as a 36 floor vertical drop outside his window—especially when there’s no one else around to share the brunt of his assessing glares.

This late in the evening, Jeonghan expects to find Seungcheol pacing the carpet in his deserted office. The same place he usually occupies when he demands a late-night report. But when he enters the room, he finds Seungcheol standing in front of Jihoon’s empty desk, poking at a Groot bobble head suctioned to the surface.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely, Jihoon will get you one of your very own.” Jeonghan drawls from the doorway.

Seungcheol makes an impatient breathy sound, like a token sarcastic laugh. “He already did.”

Jeonghan feels his eyebrows lift in surprise and turns his head to inspect Seungcheol’s desk on the other side of the room—and _yep_ , there it is. There’s a bobble head there too, stuck to one corner.

A Hello Kitty one in fact.

Jeonghan can’t imagine what inspired _that_ choice, but Seungcheol’s office is already starting to feel less intimidating with its addition.

Everything is less intimidating with Hello Kitty plastered all over it. _That_ , perhaps, was inspiration enough for Jihoon.

“Where’s Jihoon?” Jeonghan asks, before awkward silence can close in.

“I sent him on his merry way. It’s just a conference call, and there’s no sense in him hanging around because of the time difference in Paris. I’ve got work to finish anyway.” Seungcheol says quietly, though there's nothing like the usual weight of venomous impatience under the words.

Jeonghan makes a vague, agreeable noise. “Yes—I imagine it was hard to get any work done earlier when you were busy planting staples in a lowly employee’s car.”

Seungcheol is still flicking idly at the Groot bobble head, but Jeonghan catches the way his posture jerks straighter at the question. He can't decide if the movement implies guilt or surprise. There’s definitely neither in his expression when he turns to level a piercing stare at Jeonghan.

“Excuse me?”

Jeonghan hums thoughtfully and he fiddles with one of the pens on Jihoon’s desk, flipping it through his fingers. He had known, or at least suspected that Seungcheol was far too attached to Jihoon to just sit by and let him get picked on. He isn't a cold-hearted bastard, not in the way one would assume upon first meeting him. Jeonghan suspects he’s the result of both a coddled life and an impersonal upbringing, growing up with luxury at his every whim but lacking simple things like parents who gave a damn about anything besides grooming him for their own ideas of success.

He’s got edges, sure, but plenty of soft spots too.

Not for just anyone though—all for his petite PA.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and while at first it seemed crazy, it actually makes perfect sense. Most people lower their gaze when you enter a room, if they don’t immediately flee it that is. And nobody would think to look twice at the CEO walking out with boxes upon boxes of office supplies.” Jeonghan says, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Seungcheol doesn’t immediately push him through a glass window—which is promising. But he doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with a confession either. He simply brushes the creases out of his shirt and leans against the desk in a way that for anyone else would look relaxed, almost lazy. From him, it just looks quietly balanced, and still several shades of sharpness past welcoming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr Yoon.”

Jeonghan swallows past the tightness building in his throat and forces himself to continue.

“I’m talking about _you_ getting all papa bear and dealing with Jihoon’s bully.” He says pointedly. He watches to see if he hits the mark, and when it’s clear he hasn’t, he brings out the big guns. “You’re really whipped for him, aren’t you.”

That earns him Seungcheol's patented _glare_ at least. Fierce and a little bit terrifying.

“Whatever you’re implying I did—you’re _wrong_.” Seungcheol says, not giving an inch.

“Aw, come off it Choi, I _know_ it was you.” Jeonghan says, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You couldn’t just fire her on the spot because it may have led to a constructive dismissal or worse, accusations of _favouritism_. Which god forbid anyone accuse you of _that_ , because you’re Choi Seungcheol—super bastard, don’t look him directly in the eye or he’ll rip your face off. So you had to be discreet, smart—you know how the system works and you know nobody would argue with firing a thief. That’s why you scheduled that farce of a meeting this morning, so that Jisoo and Me and anyone with more than a single brain cell would be safely occupied. Then you slipped out, planted those staples then— _what_? Broke into _my_ office and sent an email from _my_ computer? I’m still getting my head around _that_ part, but I know the rest is true—so don’t even try and deny it.”

Seungcheol's face colours with embarrassed heat, but he doesn't try to evade responsibility or renew his denial. If anything—the accusation eases the tension from his shoulders, and a small answering frown tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I’m not condemning your approach,” Jeonghan continues in a softer tone, “If _anything_ I wholeheartedly support it—I’ve been trying to come up with a way to deal with the situation myself, but you got there first. And honestly, I’m surprised you managed to pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually _do_ something. Full offence, but—sometimes you come across pretty self-absorbed. How did you even _know_ he was getting picked on?”

Seungcheol regards him with an appraising eye, cautious even now. Obviously considering his answer with great care before deciding on honesty. “The Janitor told me.”

“The Janitor?” Jeonghan echoes with surprise.

“Yeah—” Seungcheol sighs ruefully. His poker face is crumbling around the edges. “Apparently he witnessed a few incidents and felt something should be done about it because he suspected Jihoon would be too _nice_ to report anything. And I’m not completely self-absorbed, okay—I notice things. I mean—I _knew_ something was bothering Jihoon the other day, but I didn’t know how to go about finding out what. So when the Janitor approached me, the knowledge that _some_ asshole was out there, actively trying to—"

Seungcheol trails off with a snarl. His hands clench into fists, not entirely under his control.

After a tense moment of silence, he draws a ragged breath. “Listen, Jeonghan—I don’t make a habit of being so underhanded, or settling petty office disputes. But Jihoon is _my_ PA—mine. Nobody picks on him.……nobody but me of course.”

He adds the last part almost like an afterthought, like he’s trying to regain a measure of his prideful arrogance.

It’s not going to work.

Jeonghan doesn't roll his eyes, but it's an effort. “You know—Jihoon thinks the sun shines out of your ass.”

Seungcheol makes a choking sound.

"You can't be serious."

"Completely," Jeonghan insists. “Won’t let a bad word be said about you. It’s always _Seungcheol this, Seungcheol that, Seungcheol is actually a really nice guy—he smiled at me once._ Things you would normally expect from any _decent_ human is somehow a million times better coming from you.”

Seungcheol lets out a slow breath, then draws one that’s just as deliberate. He doesn’t look comfortable at the change of topic at all.

“Why are you telling me this?”

After only a moment's hesitation, Jeonghan gives a helpless shrug. “I just thought it would be good for you to know how highly he thinks of you, despite how little you give him to work with. It annoys me that the one truly decent thing you _have_ done for him—has been disguised to look like a mere coincidence. That he’ll never _know_ about it—but he’ll still bat for you anyway.”

Seungcheol gives him a narrow-eyed look. “And I’m meant to do what with this information?”

There’s something odd about the whole exchange. It feels a bit like a game of chicken; the look on Seungcheol’s face is not hostile, but it is challenging. Maybe he wants Jeonghan to keep pushing him on the subject, even though Jeonghan was only teasing, or at least he’s pretty sure he was.

He doesn’t keep pushing on that, though. Instead he rapidly demurs, “Just saying—maybe you should cut him some slack. Instead of _kicking_ the little puppy, maybe pet it once in a—”

“Kitten.” Seungcheol interjects, voice low and cranky.

Again, Jeonghan hesitates. “Excuse me?”

Seungcheol smiles at him now, though it's a faraway, distracted expression. “He’s not a puppy. He’s a kitten. A teeny weeny kitten.”

Jeonghan's got no good response to that expect to eyeball him, but Seungcheol clearly isn't expecting him to disagree. He says it with such _conviction_ , like he’s been thinking about it—or maybe has already submitted it as a new dictionary definition: _Jihoon, noun: a teeny-weeny kitten. Wears sweater vests._

A silence that's too stunned to feel awkward is interrupted by the ring of Seungcheol's phone on the corner of the desk. There are about half a million buttons on the damn thing, so even if Jeonghan were inclined to answer other people's phones he wouldn't touch it. Seungcheol continues watching him for a moment, with a blankness that makes Jeonghan's skin itch, then he moves across the room and presses a button towards the top of the receiver.

The speaker activates, a soft click followed by an automated voice announcing the conference call is in progress.

“I gotta take this. We done here?” Seungcheol drawls.

Jeonghan nods with only a brief delay and moves towards the door still sitting ajar. He stops with a hand on the knob and turns to look at Seungcheol. “You’ll think about what I said, yeah? You owe me that much for breaking into my office.”

Seungcheol laughs in response to the suggestion, startled and bright. It's not exactly what Jeonghan is expecting, but he doesn't mind the way the smile lingers on Seungcheol's face as he straightens up and arches his eyebrows.

“I’ll _think_ about thinking about it.”

* * *

After he finishes with his conference call, Seungcheol doesn't rush in gathering himself and shutting down the computer in front of him. Instead he sits for a moment, staring out the window, thinking— _Damn, Jeonghan’s smarter than I thought he was._

The Vice CEO had it all figured out, and from what—witnessing a handful of interactions?

Seungcheol’s not sure if hiring him will prove to be great for the company, or terrible for his reputation. Never mind that his Vice CEO will never breathe a word about his infatuation. Seungcheol still hates that Jeonghan recognizes the problem in the first place. Because Jeonghan’s right. Completely, utterly, one-hundred-percent right.

Seungcheol _is_ whipped for Jihoon—his adorableness, his awkwardness, his sweet bubbly personality and especially his tidy little sweater vests. Even aesthetically Jihoon is…....pretty damn nice to look at. He’s trying very hard not to expand his thoughts in that direction too much, because _honestly_ , his pants are too fitted to disguise a boner right now.

So yeah, he may have let his guard down around Jihoon rather more than he should. But so far Jihoon has never taken advantage of that, except to smile warmly at him and make his heart beat faster at inconvenient moments. Which, all in all, isn’t the worst situation to be in.

It may not be platonic—but it’s not _bad_. It doesn’t _have_ to be a bad thing if he doesn’t want it to be.

He can afford to be less of an asshole.

* * *

When Seungcheol arrives at the office the next morning, Jihoon’s already seated behind his too huge desk, assembling a binder of documents. He rises immediately from his chair on noticing Seungcheol’s arrival, greeting him with a cautious but warm smile, and a quiet, “Good morning.”

Seungcheol sets his briefcase down and scratches distracted fingers through his hair, but his focus is all for Jihoon. There's no pushing away now. He's here. He's vested. Jihoon looks genuinely happy to see him, and somehow the reassurance is all Seungcheol needs. He ignores the faint, stubborn voice of doubt at the back of his head and takes a deliberate step closer.

"Hey, Peanut." It's a weak greeting, but Jihoon doesn't seem to mind. If anything, the cautious line of his mouth twists into a full blown grin, complete with those adorable dimples.

Seungcheol's chest warms at the sight.

With abrupt brightness, Jihoon sets aside his paper and rounds the desk to stand in front of him. “How was your conference call last night? I hope you didn’t work too late. Did you get enough sleep? I hope you slept well. You need more sleep. Can I get you some coffee. Or tea? I have a new herbal infusion you might like!”

Seungcheol’s not sure if Jihoon expects him to actually answer all those questions, or if he’s just pre-empting Seungcheol’s usual stiff silences with random words and energy. Regardless, the offer of beverages nudges him closer to the question he was planning to pose.

“Actually, I was going to save the hot beverages for breakfast. I—uhm—haven’t eaten this morning yet.”

Jihoon purses his lips thoughtfully, and Seungcheol half expects him to begin chiding him on the importance of a hearty breakfast. But then Jihoon’s bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet and spewing suggestions at him.

“I have a granola bar in my lunchbox—you can have it. Or I could fetch you a bagel and cream cheese from the canteen. You’ll be surprised to hear they make excellent fresh bagels. Oh, no—wait—you can’t have carbs. I forgot. I’m sorry. Uhm, how about an omelette? The diner around the corner does really nice herb and brie omelettes, I can—”

“Fuck the diet. I want carbs.” Seungcheol interrupts.

Jihoon actually beams at the suggestion, and cocks his head to the side as he says, “Well then you have _tons_ of options. Fancy anything in particular? I can order any breakfast you want, and have it delivered.”

Seungcheol takes a moment to prepare himself mentally, before he answers.

“Or—we could eat out? There’s a café not far from here that serves huge stacks of American pancakes with bacon, all soaked in maple syrup. I’ve been meaning to try it for some time.”

“Ooh, that sounds amazing. I’ll call and book you a seat—” Jihoon begins automatically, then grinds to a halt. “Wait….. _w-we?”_ He says, locking Seungcheol with wide, innocent eyes. Wider than usual.

Seungcheol very casually pretends to examine his cuff links and think about this decision before he says, “Yeah, why not. Me and you. Let’s go.”

Jihoon’s whole face flushes up, a tendon jumping in his throat. “Me? I-I get to have breakfast with you?” He says in a small, stunned voice.

Seungcheol wilfully ignores the scepticism in Jihoon's voice and reaches around to dim his computer monitor.

“Yeah, why not.” He says, shrugging. And then, because Jihoon is still watching him a little too intently, he braces himself and says, “ _Look_ —It’s your first full month on the job and it’s safe to say you’ve passed your induction period. I think that’s cause for celebration, so let’s go out for breakfast—my treat.”

Jihoon watches him for a moment, quiet and inscrutable, and Seungcheol resists the urge to fidget because it looks guilty as fuck. But then Jihoon’s expression brightens, excitement and comprehension breaking over his face, “Oh wow, okay—oh my god. Breakfast—Yes! I love breakfast. I love pancakes. Just—uhm—hold on a second!” He gasps, scrambling behind his desk to grab his coat and scarf.

When he appears in front of Seungcheol again he’s no less excited, but he is blushing, little motes of colour climbing up in his cheeks.

“Okay, I’m ready.” He says, ducking his head and smiling at Seungcheol through his bangs.

It’s endearing—how he’s suddenly so sweetly shy about the whole thing, and Seungcheol _needs_ to touch him right this very moment.

And then, because he's in a better mood than he's been in all week—and maybe because relief is kicking his pulse high and his adrenaline hot—Seungcheol steps forward, closing the distance between them and pats Jihoon on the head. Jihoon raises his eyes, surprised, and Seungcheol smoothes his own expression into something lighter, something a little more like a smile.

“You’re a—you’re a good PA Peanut, and—and I’m happy I hired you.”

It feels ridiculous once he hears it out loud. It sounded better in his head, but out loud it just sounds forced and lame and _yet_ , Jihoon stares at him like he's just said something _staggering_. Like he could not, in seven billion years, have seen this coming. Which only serves to make Seungcheol feel like more an asshole, because that was _hardly_ even a compliment, could barely pass for praise and yet Jihoon’s acting like Seungcheol just offered him his second kidney. 

Seungcheol has just a second to enjoy the expression of utter happiness that graces Jihoon’s pretty face, before Jihoon stumbles back and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

* * *

Jihoon wakes with an uncomfortable rush, becoming aware of his physical body with dizzying vertigo.

Nothing specifically hurts, but every time this happens there’s always a tired and rumbling exhaustion that leaves him feeling like he’s had too much to drink and too little sleep. Except his memory is always intact, so of course he can re-live, in excruciating detail, how he passed out in front of his boss.

The last thing Jihoon remember is his chest feeling like it might explode at the casual praise—then strong arms catching him and complete darkness.

_This is so embarrassing._

There is a disconcerting stretch of seconds in which his eyes refuse to open. His limbs are sluggish too, twitching only grudgingly at first, though vigour returns to them by degrees. He breathes, slow and steady, bracing himself for a greater effort—then gasps when his face is framed by steady hands.

“Jihoon, Jihoon—say something kitten.” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the fog, and _kitten_?

Really?

That’s….. _new_.

Jihoon grows even more determined to recover control of his body, and thank god— _finally_ , his eyes flutter open and Seungcheol’s handsome face fills his field of vision. And, okay— _wow_ , he must be sitting directly next to Jihoon in order to lean super close like that.

“Jihoon! Are you okay? You scared the shit out of me—what the fuck just happened?” Seungcheol breathes, eyes flickering over Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon barely quashes a helpless, exhausted bark of laughter. He must look truly awful to put that expression of unvarnished worry on the man’s usually stern face.

“I’m sorry. I—I probably should have told you about that.” Jihoon says, relieved when it comes out clear, albeit a little bleary.

One of Seungcheol’s eyebrows creep up. He stares very pointedly at Jihoon.

“Wait. That’s happened to you _before_?” His voice is soft, but there's accusation in it just the same.

Jihoon swallows thickly. “Yeah, I uhm—I kind of have this condition where I kind of pass out when I get really happy. But it’s only for a few seconds, then I’m right as rain.” He explains, trying to sound reassuring.

He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job of it.

Seungcheol’s looking at him like they’d never met before and Jihoon has just come up and introduced himself as the fifth in line to the throne of Japan—partially disbelieving but also cautiously interested despite himself.

The silence stretches on so long that Jihoon smiles in a way that he hopes isn’t as awkward on the outside as it feels on the inside. He’s suddenly terrified that Seungcheol will fire him, because this is _probably_ something he should have disclosed in his induction. Random fainting spells are probably some kind of _insurance liability,_ and are not conducive for an efficient PA regardless of how infrequently Jihoon has one.

“You fainted because you were _happy_?” Seungcheol asks, interrupting Jihoon’s bleak train of thought.

Jihoon squirms under his attention.

“Uhm, yeah. You said I was a good PA, you’ve never said that before and, and it made me really happy. I—I promise it won’t affect my work Seungcheol. Please don’t fire me.”

Seungcheol’s intense expression softens and he laughs. He _laughs_ —which is _not_ the response Jihoon expects. Especially how it sounds—light and warm and not at all angry. 

“Jesus, Jihoon, I know I can be an asshole, but I’d like to think I’m not _that_ much of an asshole. I’m not going to fire you because you _fainted_.”

“Oh. Good.” Jihoon says, breathless and grinning. He can't stop staring at the soft, easy expression on Seungcheol's face. “Can we still have breakfast?” He adds in a tone that's more baldly hopeful than he might have preferred.

“Yeah, sure—but shouldn’t we get you checked out?” Seungcheol says, laughter still rumbling in his voice.

“Why? Did I hit my head?” Jihoon asks, because it wouldn’t be the first time either. Though he feels pretty steady for the moment, for all that his vision is twisting a bit around the edges. Mostly he just feels embarrassed. 

Seungcheol shakes his head, “No—I managed to catch you before you fell.”

Only _then_ is Jihoon aware of the way Seungcheol’s holding him—one arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the other reaching up to cradle the back of his head. He’s also embarrassingly aware that if anyone were to walk in on them now, that their positions _might_ just be a little bit compromising.

 _More than a little bit compromising—_ he thinks, face flushing slightly. 

With the way Seungcheol’s kneeling low on the floor and holding Jihoon in his arms, makes him feel like some kind of Disney Princess. One that’s just been awoken from an eternal slumber by true love’s first…

_Nope. No. Don’t go there._

_Do not even think about Seungcheol kissing you right now._

_Seungcheol is not your Prince Charming—_ Jihoon’s inner voice admonishes him, though as the seconds tick on, Seungcheol’s continued proximity is seriously starting to undermine his willpower.

Seungcheol is still holding him tightly, still close enough that his breath ghosts along Jihoon's skin and ruffles his hair, and his gaze is flickering over his face in way that if this were someone else, someone _not_ his boss, Jihoon would be damn sure they were about to kiss him.

Jihoon tries very, very hard not to blush thinking about it. He doesn’t succeed.

Oh—and _now_ Seungcheol’s noticing how all flustered and flushed he’s getting, and he’s drawing back a little to stare at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously and they’re— _shitshitshit_ —suddenly in super awkward city. Population: Jihoon and Seungcheol.

Tension twines around and between them, so palpable they fall silent all at once. Leaving them both watching each other warily, like they’re both expecting the other to say something.

Jihoon can’t take it anymore.

“Thanks.” He says at last, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “I think I’d like to get up right now.”

Seungcheol stares at him a second longer, then disentangles himself abruptly, rocks back on his heels and rises to his feet.

The sudden retreat is unexpected, leaving Jihoon to wonder if he said something wrong, and his chest tightens unhappily. But when Seungcheol offers him a helping hand up a moment later, he doesn’t immediately let go—his grip lingers over Jihoon’s, thumb brushing across the underside of Jihoon's wrist in a way that feels deliberate and reassuring.

It has Jihoon’s whole body shuddering pleasantly.

“Let’s uh—let’s go have breakfast. Get your sugar levels up or something.” Seungcheol says, sounding distracted as he finally releases Jihoon’s hand and heads for the door.

Jihoon follows into the hall, ducking to hide his smile as Seungcheol brusquely leads the way.


End file.
